


The King’s Bard

by ADashOfStarshine (ADashOfInsanity)



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: D&D Character Backstory, M/M, Master/Servant, Power Imbalance, Spanking, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27905296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADashOfInsanity/pseuds/ADashOfStarshine
Summary: With no memory of who or what he used to be,  the elf now known as Miril faces a long and uncertain future as the property of a terrifying Archfey.However, what he anticipates to be a life of degradation at the hands of this “King of the Bloom”, turns out to be a lot stranger than even he realised.Please enjoy these snapshots into Miril’s life as the newest, and perhaps most surprising, companion to a very lonely deity.
Relationships: Original Male Character/ Original Male Character, The King (OC) / Miril (OC)
Kudos: 4





	The King’s Bard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been four weeks since Miril fell through a Fey Ring and became the so-called pet of an Archfey.  
> He’s still not happy about it.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Miril complained for the umpteenth time that afternoon. Lyesa, the ever-so patient eladrin who seemed to have been put in charge of supervising his every move, just sighed.

“You tried to cover your Master in bees,” she reminded him, combing the jam and leaves out of his long raspberry-blond hair. Her grip on his hair was always very gentle, the strokes of her comb surprisingly calming as she massaged shampoo into his scalp.

“He’s not my master,” Miril objected, trying to fold his arms in defiance, however all that served to do was make his chest very uncomfortable, so he opted for ripping up grass instead.

“Yes, he is,” Lyesa told him, “And your deity. Try to remember.”

“Is that why he took every other memory out of my head?” Miril sulked, “So all I could think about was him?”

“Actually, yes,” Lyesa replied, sounding a little surprised at his correct conclusion, “Because you don’t need to think about anything that happened before. You are here with us now, you have a new name, a new purpose, look how well you’re using our language now! You’re so clever learning Sylvan in only a few weeks.”

He could tell she was trying to brighten his mood, but it wasn’t working. He was tired, hungry, his ass hurt, and he was a complete mess. None of that was his fault. Especially the ass part.

“I’m not clever,” he mumbled, “He put all the words in my head, I just figured out how to use them.”

“Exactly,” Lyesa crooned, “You figured out how to use a whole new language, a whole new way of using grammar and tenses and all our rank specific language.”

“Elven and Sylvan clearly share the same roots,” Miril replied, as if knowing that would diminish his achievement, “Once you’ve got your head round that, it’s not hard to see how the sentence structure and verb conjugation works.”

Lyesa chuckled as if he’d just proved her point for her. She picked up a glass vial with a crystal stopper before pouring the contents over his head.

“And that’s why His Majesty likes you,” she told him, still gently working the worst of the fruity goop out of his hair, “You’re bright, beautiful and you’re not afraid to show off your cunning side. It’s been so long since he’s had a servant who has kept him so thoroughly entertained.”

“Then why did he spank me?” Miril complained, reminded vividly of the fact by the fact he was still hurting.

“Because you tried to cover him in bees,” Lyesa said simply, “If you only applied your intelligence to pleasing your Master and not antagonizing him, then your life will be so much better. You’ll get to enjoy yourself.”

“Enjoy being a slave?” Miril countered, “Enjoy being taken away from my home, not being allowed to remember what that was even like? He’s taken everything, my home, my name, my memory, my freedom… I’m not a person anymore. I-I don’t want to spend the rest of my life as his _thing_.”

His voice cracked and trembled over the last few words. Try as he might, acknowledging the helplessness of his situation always broke through the haughty air he was using to cope. Because he was right, Lyesa couldn’t deny everything had changed for him. He knew somewhere out there, somewhere in another world, he had once had a home, another name, possibly even a family. But because someone had left a fey ring just lying around, he was now here. Because, in his terror, the King of the Bloom had tricked him into giving him his name – which was a stupid rule by the way –he was now the God’s property. Well, not god. Apparently in the Feywild they called them ‘Archfey’ and the correct term was ‘deity’. Miril didn’t care what the proper term was for his captor though! The man had put a collar on him! A white leather collar with metal rings to attach a leash to and further straps. The ‘deity’ fully intended to keep him as a pet and Miril didn’t want to be a pet. Hells, he didn’t want to be called Miril! He had another name once. His real name! But all he could remember was this title the King had given him. Miril was derived from the Sylvan for ‘glittery’, he knew that now. He’d been named after how the pink-ish light of the King’s grove glittered off his hair. It was so demeaning. He felt like an accessory. Like furniture!

“Oh no,” Lyesa sighed, putting down her comb and pulling him closer to her. She wrapped her arms around him as he started to sob into his tunic.

“No, Miril, no. No need for tears. It’s not as bad you think, you’re just trying to get used to all this. No one here wants to hurt you. Not even your Master.”

“He did hurt me!” Miril wailed.

“You tried to cover him in bees,” Lyesa reminded him softly, “You just need to understand that you’ll get what you give here. If your behaviour is good, then your life will be good. If you try and hurt people, then you’ll get hurt too.”

“I-I didn’t actually hurt him,” Miril choked, “It didn’t work.”

“But you wanted it to,” Lyesa told him, “And so your Master punished you fairly for it. Think about it, if you do bad things, bad things happen to you. However, if you’re good, then…”

Miril fixed her with a watery glare. He was a fully grown elf, she didn’t have to use toddler logic on him.

“I don’t want to be his pet,” he told her plainly. She merely smiled at him as if he was causing a fuss over nothing.

“You _are_ his pet. Just like _I’m_ a bath attendant, those people you covered in jam were generals, and the rest were guards. Everyone has a role to play in his wondrous Court and whether we like it or not, we must play our part at its best and most beautiful.”

Miril wasn’t convinced. He didn’t belong here. He wasn’t an Archfey-obsessed eladrin, he was from another world, he’d had a life! There was no way being this deity’s pet was his destiny. But…well, he hadn’t found a way to escape it yet.

“Alright,” declared Lyesa, “Later, after you’ve had your bath, why don’t you try something for me?”

Miril stared at her. She was the only nice person he knew in this horrible yet beautiful place. The one who’d made sure he’d ate, slept and recovered after every one of his beatings. She’d cleaned up so much of his blood and wiped away many of his tears. Explained every new little thing – from strange plants to stranger foods. Certainly, his time here would be a constant hell without her kindness. Even if her advice made her seem completely brainwashed.

“Could you do that?” she prompted, “Just one little thing for me?”

Against his better judgement, he nodded. It was only fair after the effort she’d gone to. 

“After you’ve cleaned up and got dressed again,” Lyesa suggested, “Why don’t you go back into the grove? When you’re there, just sit down and listen. You don’t need to do anything, just sit, take in the view, feel the breeze on your face and admire the flowers. Get used to everything that goes on in there without any sort of distraction. Sit, observe, and you’ll find it’s not that scary after all.”

That was just another way of saying that she wanted him to do as he was told. His ‘master’ was probably expecting him to do just that. And he bet there wouldn’t be anything he could entertain himself, or inconvenience anyone else, with either.

“You can do that for me, surely?” Lyesa insisted.

He wasn’t going to get a choice in the matter, was he? He wiped his tears on his tunic as she picked him up off his feet and directed him towards the closest bath. He was so exhausted he couldn’t really fight her. He got in the bath and obediently washed the last of the shampoo and debris out of his hair. After that he cleaned himself up and got out, ready to be wrapped up in a fresh robe. This time it was pink with tiny sequined tassels on the sleeves and hem. They rattled together whenever he moved. The King would absolutely be able to hear it if he got up to something, Miril swiftly realized. He wanted to complain about that, whine, maybe do something in protest. Mostly he wanted to cry again, however it appeared he was too tired to do even that again. The warm bath had made him very lethargic. It would’ve been so easy to doze off in there, but no, Lyesa wouldn’t let him.

She steered him out of the baths and back down the mossy passageway that led around the King’s personal chambers. The route was a perfect cylinder of moss and flowers, weaving its way like a tunnel around the outside of the overgrown structure, the only light provided by the faintly luminescent blooms. Once they reached the end, Lyesa stopped guiding him by the shoulders and gestured for him to go ahead. As a bath attendant, she didn’t get to go into the audience chamber without invitation. He however…

Miril looked at her with his best pleading expression. She just smiled encouragingly and gestured him forwards. The door before them opened of its own accord, revealing him to the entirety of the audience chamber. He swallowed hard and buried his hands in his robe. If he ran now, Lyesa would likely catch him and turn him around again. He therefore pushed back the urge to fake illness, or act up on his exhaustion, and merely put one bare foot before the other. A few steps later, he was out in the late afternoon sun. It was pleasantly warm, though as far as he could tell, it was always pleasantly warm in the Court of Blooms. The sunlight alternated between a soft yellow in the morning, orange at midday and pink in the evening. It made everything seem like it was part of a dream, slightly too fuzzy and pastel to seem real. Yet the stone beneath his feet was real. As were the enormous bushes and trellises that turned the borders of this area into a jungle of immense flora. Every surface, even the furniture, was covered in gigantic flowers. Hand sized daisies marked his path towards where his ‘master’ sat in state on a mound of grass and mossy stonework. His throne seemed to be made out of the ruin of something else – another Archfey’s property perhaps. The seat was large enough to be a small room, or perhaps a large platform or a dais. Whatever its history, nature had overcome it like every surface in this place. Now it was a tall slope of thick grass, ringed by moss-covered rocks and flowering shrubs. It towered over every other piece of furniture in the room, imposing in its size if not for its composition. It wasn’t a throne in the traditional sense. However, the man lounging in the structure didn’t need gold and jewels to be intimidating.

Easily eight-foot-tall and broader than two eladrin, the being known as The King of the Bloom commanded attention even when silent and still. Even through his fear of the deity, Miril couldn’t deny that he was the most handsome being he’d ever seen – memories or none. He’d been told the King took multiple shapes but this was his favourite. An over-sized eladrin male with a few additional monstrous features that only served to make him even more intimidating. Without the tree-like antlers and the long razor-sharp claws, oh and the dark eyes with the glowing pink irises, he might look just like an eladrin hit with a ‘too-big’ spell. But no. The talons where his fingernails should be were multiple inches long, porcelain white and tipped with pink like the flowers that hung over his throne. Growing from his head, pushing aside the long glossy curls of his hair, were a pair of what Miril could only call miniature trees. They looked like wood, and had branches and leaves sprouting from them. Trails of blossoms hung from the branches, like a deer had got themself stuck in a cherry tree and brought its flowers out with it. But no, this wasn’t a deer. This looked like a man with antlers made of trees. The rest of him, the rest of him looked elven or eladrin, but in the most fantastically hyper-masculine sense. His muscular chest put statues of heroes past to shame, the strength in his body so taut and defined that Miril was sure the deity could crush a man in his bare hands. His arms were thicker than Miril’s waist, his legs as wide as tree-trunks, but all in a gorgeous athletic sort of way that made him the most attractive being Miril had encountered in this world or any other. His face would be mesmerizing, if not for the creepiness of those luminescent eyes. His high cheekbones and chiseled jawline made him look like a concept idealised, like those paintings you got of ‘virtue’ or ‘strength’ as a person. Why could he remember those and not anything else? Miril bit his lip in frustration as he slowly and quietly walked to the smaller grassy mound that had grown up the King’s throne.

Attached to one of the few areas of exposed stonework was a piece of metal shaped like an orchid – which seemed to be the King’s favourite flower as they were simply everywhere. Attached to this metal orchid was a matching hoop, which at first confused Miril when he thought it was a door knocker. No. It was something far less pleasant than a door knocker, as evidenced by the long white strip of leather that was still fastened to the ring. The leather had the same stitching as the collar now attached around Miril’s neck with no discernable buckle or fastening. That ring on the wall was a tether, the strip of leather a leash, all for making sure he didn’t go anywhere without the King’s permission. Miril hated it. He felt like a dog tied to a post. As he sat on the smaller grassy mound, the leash leapt up and soundlessly attached itself to the ring on the back of his collar. If the King was controlling it, he didn’t even need to look at Miril or the leash to do so. Miril balled his hands into fists within his sleeves as he curled up on the mound, leaning against the side of the King’s throne beside the tether. 

The seat was large enough for however he might like to sit. He could stretch out his legs if he wanted, but he preferred to make himself as small as possible. Curled up against the piece of wall that served as the Archfey’s armrest, he was able to keep himself out of sight to a few of the eladrin at this gathering. Earlier, at the breakfast meeting, he’d been forced to sit forward, so he could use the small table they’d provided him. However there was certainly no table and nothing for him to make a mess with this time. He glanced upwards to see where the beehive had been. Unsurprisingly, that was now gone too. It had been a really good plan though. A well improvised act of rebellion, and a good distraction for an escape attempt - if he wasn’t attached to this wall. The execution had been simple but very effective. Yes, he knew he had done something wrong. Yes, he had intended for people to get stung. However, he couldn’t be blamed for protesting his situation! He couldn’t run away, and he couldn’t achieve anything by yelling - he’d already tried that. Trying to make a nuisance of himself was his next go-to plan but that just got him hurt. With each day, he sank further into hopelessness, slowly understanding how inescapable his situation was. Yet that didn’t stop him wanting to try. He wanted to do something, anything, to feel like he still had some sort of agency here. But with every beating, every hour spent tied up, Miril could feel his resolve draining. Why was he still trying to fool himself? What did he have left? Why did he bother? Maybe he should just…

Miril suddenly sat up as he felt fingers atop his head. Large digits began to stroke through his hair, combing through long tresses and toying with the strands of his fringe. A shiver passed down Miril’s spine as he felt his shoulders relax and his head loll back into the touch. It felt good, it felt _really_ good. The gentlest sensation he’d felt since coming here, it fulfilled the part of him that cried out for reassurance, for actual physical affection, that could make him feel safe and whole. It was such a welcome comfort amidst his fear. Pleasurable enough in fact, that he momentarily forgot where the caresses were coming from.

The King’s touch was always warm and sort-of tingly – according to Lyesa that was because he was a being of pure arcane magic. Miril was used to feeling that magic stinging him as the King of the Bloom smacked him. Previously, when the King had tried to do exactly this, he’d shied away or fidgeted in constant protest. Yet right now…He was so tired. He could feel large fingers stroking through his hair, following long strands right to their tips before caressing Miril’s shoulders. Yes, he was being pet like some sort of animal but… it was hard to think about when every long stroke sent a soothing sort of warmth cascading through his body. Each time the King touched him, Miril could feel his muscles relax, his body unwind, like he was back in the bath. He unconsciously gravitated into the touch, the peace and relaxation of it all a welcome respite from his terror. His eyes slid closed as he felt fingertips trace his cheeks and the edge of his chin, before returning to brushing out long silky strands of hair from his face. Part of his mind was still aware that the King had claws. But there was no pain, no cut, no sharpness at all as the soothing influence of his touch made Miril slowly relax into a doze. His exhaustion was catching up with him the longer he sat here and submitted to this gentleness. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he wasn’t upsetting anyone, surely, just for a moment… The last thing Miril felt before falling into a trance was a soft squeeze at his shoulder and an even softer kiss to the top of his head. 

When he awoke, everything was lovely and cozy. He kept his eyes closed, and curled up into a tighter ball, enjoying the warmth radiating from all sides. There was something warm and comforting around him, like a thick blanket or a pile of cushions. Whatever his face was on was soft and a little fluffy. There was definitely the texture of silk beside his right hand, which he hastily brought back into the warm ball that was his body. As he lay there, unwilling to open his eyes and take in his reality, he heard a low rumble from beneath him. Then, as his awareness slowly returned, he heard voices:

“He’s well-behaved now,” said an unfamiliar voice, shrill and shrewd, “Why couldn’t he be like that this morning?”

“Because he’s worn himself out,” said Lyesa with a slightly impatient note to her voice.

“He almost dozed off when getting washed up earlier,” she explained, “So it’s hardly surprising he tranced now.”

There was another rumble beneath him, and then another familiar voice. If he wasn’t so sleepy, this would have frightened Miril. But no, he wanted to remain like this for as long as possible - blissful and uncaring.

“In this state, he is more accepting of comfort,” said the King of the Bloom, “As you very well see. He fell into his trance quickly on this occasion, it was very endearing.”

There was a moment of silence, in which Miril presumed they saw. Then Lyesa spoke again.

“May-may I make a suggestion, your Beauteousness,” she asked with a slight stammer, “For improving your relationship with your new servant?”

A prickle of fear passed through Miril. He made to stirr, attempted to open his eyes, but no sooner had he decided to do so then he felt the King start to play with his hair once more. Combing through his hair, massaging at his scalp, in a way that made him shiver in delight but too relaxed to rise.

“Of course Lyesa, you have spent most time with him. Share what you have learned.”

Lyesa cleared her throat.

“Forgive me if this seems impertinent your Majesty,” she began, “But...it appears we all underestimated this one when we first took him in. Miril is far more intelligent than any pet we’ve had to tame for many a century now. I put forward the evidence that he picked up our language to a proficient degree in just over three weeks, as compared to the last few who all took over a month, if not multiple months.”

“That is true, continue,” the King ordered.

“I think, your Majesty, that if Miril was provided with something to keep his mind occupied,he would be a lot better behaved in general. A restless mind is more likely to come up with little tricks like he attempted this morning. If his thoughts are free to wander, there’s also a greater chance he’ll panic or become scared of his surroundings. However, if his attention was held with a task, or a piece of reading, he would be less likely to act up in front of everyone.”

“That is a well-reasoned statement,” the King agreed, “In his recollections I saw that he had long been of a scholarly disposition. Books were a particular joy of his. In that case, take him to the library to pick out a volume before tomorrow morning's call. We will test your theory Lyesa.”

“Of course your Majesty, thank you your Majesty,” she replied.

“Careful in your discipline of him though when moving forwards to the second month,” the King stated, “I do not want him made entirely docile. Obedient yes, but his fire should not be extinguished. Allow feistiness when it doesn’t cause harm. I desire a servant who knows when it is time to show a free spirit and when it is time to submit. I believe this little one has that potential. His capacity to fight destiny is adorable.”

He should be angry at the fact that the King kept calling him cute. He wasn’t a puppy or a kitten, not an adorable animal that should be petted. Yet in his shaky state, Miril was finding it hard to deny that this affection, this physical attention, satisfied a craving that seemed to exist in his very soul. The thought of there being no more of it darkened his mood and the thought that if he complied there would be more… No! He refused to be reduced to an animal! He was an intelligent person and one that deserved freedom! But right now… Right now he was a sleepy person who really just wanted to doze off in this warm place he’d found here - wherever exactly here was. 

‘Here’ turned out to be the King’s lap. Miril had no idea how long he’d been trancing for but when he awoke it was to the smell of food. His stomach growled at him to remind him of meals he’d refused or ruined lately. He stirred with a slight moan and opened his eyes - only to be met with the bare skin of the King's chest - where he’d evidently been using his breast as a pillow. The fluffiness he’d felt earlier had the King’s soft chest hair and the warmth… Miril’s eyes widened in equal parts horror and mortification as he realised it had been the warmth of the King’s embrace, of having his arms around him, that had given him such pleasure. The Archfey must have lifted him into his lap after he’d dozed off beside his chair. Now he had one large arm around him, cradling him close as he used the other hand to hold a large goblet of wine. Miril looked down to discover he had sat on one of the King’s thighs as he had curled into this ball. The silk texture had been his trousers- had he accidentally felt up the King’s thigh earlier? Better his thigh then his crotch but oh no, what was everyone going to think? He curled up and fell asleep in the King’s lap like a cat! And he’d enjoyed the experience! But he wasn’t a pet! He wasn’t! This didn’t mean anything!

“Good evening my treasure,” the King said to him quietly and softly as if not spook him. Too late, now that glowing gaze was directed at him, now he realised how truly small he was curled up against this man, Miril had already begun to tremble in fear. No matter how gorgeous or warm this being was, he was still the person that wanted to keep Miril as his slave. He was still the one who had taken away everything he’d ever known and hit him until he cried. Now he was starting to cry again.

“I see this is too soon now you are awake,” the King commented. Before Miril could do or say anything, he was lifted around the waist and deposited back on his grassy mound. Confused and crying, Miril looked up at him. Had… had the King just realised he was overwhelmed and tried to correct the situation? Had he decided that Miril evidently wasn’t comfortable in his lap and put him down? He wasn’t being punished for going against the King’s wishes? 

“Do you wish to eat this time?” The King asked him, “If you continue to resist meals you will become ill.”

Miril was just confused now. He nodded because yes, he would like to eat, but where was the pain? The King wanted him in his lap. Miril had stopped wanting to be in the King’s lap. Wasn’t he going to be punished?

“You have done nothing to be punished for my treasure,” the King told him, making him flinch as he realised the Archfey had read his thoughts again. 

“Harm will only come to you if you enact harm on others,” the King continued, “Pain begets pain as joy begets joy. That is the first rule of this place. You did not willfully disobey me on this occasion, you grew frightened and therefore I put distance between you and I - the source of your fright.”

So he had tried to rectify the situation, to make Miril feel slightly less intimidated. What did that matter when he had already kidnapped him and taken away his memories?! He couldn’t convince Miril he cared after everything he’d put him through! He was just an animal to the King, an animal who was punished for its bad behaviour! Knowing full well that the Archfey could read his thoughts by now, he just glared up at him.

“You are not an animal,” stated the King, “And I will not punish you if you do not try to bring harm to myself or my people. Understand this.”

Miril just glared until he heard the sounds of someone else entering the audience chamber. He turned to see an unfamiliar eladrin arrive with a tray of food. They curtseyed in front of the King before placing the tray in front of Miril’s seat. With yet another curtsey, they departed. As soon as they were gone, Miril turned to look at the tray. The smells wafting from the assortment of plates and bowls made his stomach clench and growl at him. He had refused most meals since he’d arrived, only eating when the hunger had become too much for him to function. Yet, as he looked at the array of different foods, all beautifully prepared and garnished with delicate flowers made out of fruit, he felt his resolve wavering. It all looked so lovely and it had been made for him after all. Wouldn’t it be rude not to eat at least some of it? Could he at least look at one of the flowers to see how they’d been made? Creating such lifelike flowers out of food had to be an art in itself. Couldn’t he just look at how they were made?

The King watched, amusement twinkling in his eyes as Miril inspected every last bowl, plate and flower, clearing every one as he went. By the time he had eaten his way through roast meat and grilled vegetables, buttered bread and frosted strawberries, Miril was feeling very sleepy once more. Content and full, his stomach had stopped its groaning and now he was left to inspect some cucumber leaves, inspecting the tiny cuts where veins had been sliced into the translucent shapes down to the most minute and incredible detail. Yet even that couldn’t hold his attention for long as he felt himself drift off once more, his tired mind seemingly deciding that there wasn’t anything left to panic about right now. The King was right there, but well, he had left Miril more or less alone to eat. And he didn’t seem to want to touch him again after Miril had vacated his lap.

Despite falling back into a trance beside the King’s throne, Miril awoke in the same place he always did. A small semi-circular bed in one of the guest rooms attached to the bathhouse. He was roused by a loud knock on the door, followed by Lyesa entering regardless of whether he wanted her to or not.

“Wakey-wakey rise and shine!” she called, crossing the room to pull back the curtains, “Your Master has a special treat for you today!”

“Is it a book,” Miril mumbled, remembering the conversation from yesterday as he stretched out his aching legs. Too much being curled up and trying to cower out of sight...

“It _is_ a book!” Lyesa exclaimed, as if nothing could excite her more, “What’s more, you get to go to the Royal Library and _choose_ yourself a book. You must have been on your best behaviour for your Master yesterday, so few get to venture into the Royal Library these days! Up you get! No time to dawdle!”

Miril had learned that she wasn’t going to stop being overly-loud and cheerful until he did indeed get up. He got to his feet, discovering that he was still wearing the same robe from yesterday with the tassels on - thankfully no one had decided to change him. Lyesa handed him a fresh set of clothes - a white tunic with long lace sleeves and a pair of pastel pink leggings, before ushering him out of the bathhouse and back towards the King’s chambers. She took him through a section of the palace that he’d yet to visit. Cool and surprisingly shadowy, there was more bare stone here, the amount of vegetation decreasingly steadily until he was left treading on wooden floorboards, scanning bare stone for some reason why the flora didn’t dare reach into the depths of this place. Lyesa took him through a large set of double doors - wooden but carved to look like a curtain of trailing orchids had fallen over the surface. No sooner had Miril followed her inside, then he felt a great silence settle over them both. Palpable quiet, like a thick blanket had been laid over the pair, they moved slower, breathed lighter, cursed the steady thumping of their hearts as if their internals would disturb the forced silence of this place. The Royal Library was very dark. The air in here tasted like old leather and dust. Miril licked his lips and found them dry again as soon as he stopped licking. Not a soul met them as Lyesa led him between two ceiling-high shelves. The space was immensely claustrophobic - one fallen shelf would mean certain doom for anyone caught between the furniture. As Miril glanced about, he couldn’t see any labels, any coding system, any directory, about how they were supposed to navigate this place. How did Lyesa know where she was going? How did anyone find anything here?

“Let’s start with something newer,” Lyesa whispered, “You’ve just got the hang of Sylvan, let’s not complicate things.”

He was led between two more shelves like any of the others in here. The thousands of spines around him were hard to read even with the elven ability to peer through darkness. He rose up onto his tip-toes, sank onto his knees, scanning the shelf in front of him to try and recognise the subject of any book in front of him. It was no use. Each was as indistinguishable from the next except for size. If that was the case… Miril found the biggest book he could feasibly carry and chose that one. If he was going to have to read something at random, he might as well keep himself occupied. 

“Excellent!” said Lyesa murmured, “Come on, let’s get out of here, this place gives me the creeps.”

Soon he was back in the audience chamber, attached to the King’s throne in front of another breakfast meeting. Clearly they were keeping both cutlery and condiments away from him now. He had a selection of pastries on a tray to eat, some of which already had jam on them, making his interference with the main table unnecessary. As he ate, Miril considered the book he’d chosen. Now he was out in the light, he could make out the title - “Fables and Histories of the Fair People.” He’d learned that Fair and Fey were pretty interchangeable here, so it looked like he’d stumbled into some sort of storybook. Or was it a history book? Or was it history told as stories? Were histories and stories the same thing here? He didn’t know and as loathe as he was to do what he was told and actually read the thing… No, he had stared at it for too long. He had to know now whether this was a textbook or a work of fiction. If it was filled with actual history maybe he could learn more about the Feywild from it? That would only help him going forward. Yes, he wasn’t doing this because anyone had told him to, he was doing this for himself. Curiosity was such a burden after all.

Someone brought him a cup of floral tea and added it to his breakfast tray as he settled back on his grassy seat. Miril picked it up, as well as one of the plates, and put them on the grass beside him. Sitting cross-legged against the wall, he opened the book in his lap, revealing a double page spread of beautiful illustrations. He ran a hand over the pages, which had been embossed to suit the lines of the pictures. Ferocious looking beings with many arms and legs warred across the page with armies of equally bizarre looking creatures, not quite animals, not quite people, not quite anything really. The sky stormed overhead this battle, casting golden lightning bolts down on the battling forces, the grey clouds looking down with thunderous faces - strangely realistic and unnerving to behold. In one corner was a beautiful silver tower, flying white flags, the other was a toxic looking swampland full of yet more beasts. The longer Miril looked at the picture, the more he found in it - from the tiny people running about the battlefield, to the even tinier cats that seemed to occupy the spaces shared by the larger beings. Even more intrigued now, he eventually turned the page and found a table of contents. He was right! This was a collection of historical events told as stories. The first being ‘The Three Sisters and the Prince of Frost’. That sounded like it involved an Archfey if the royal title was anything to go by. Maybe he could discover more about Archfey from this?

“How is your book, my treasure?”

Miril jumped. He looked up to discover that the meeting was over. All the chairs and tables had been packed away already. Evidently so caught up in his book, he hadn’t even heard everyone leave. Now only he and the King remained in the audience chamber, and the King was looking down at him, his book at the empty tray now devoid of tea or pastries. Glancing at the sky overhead, Miril realised he must have been here for hours, the soft orange of midday had already crept into the skyline. Had he really got so lost in his reading that a whole morning had passed? 

“Why don’t you sit up here and tell me about it?” suggested the King, patting the top of the wall that he used as an armrest. It was covered in a soft layer of moss and flowers. Miril stared at it for a moment, it was certainly a way to sit closer without being in the King’s lap. But did he even want to sit closer? The King had been nice to him ever since, well ever since stopped trying to sting or stab people. By his own logic, this couldn’t be a means to hurt or trick him. Miril had been very quiet and well behaved all morning. Therefore surely he didn’t deserve any pain right now? Getting to his feet, Miril realised that a few of the stones of the armrest provided a little set of steps up to the top. Nimbly climbing these, he sat on the mossy top, still clutching his book all the while as if loath to have it taken away from him.

“That’s better,” the King told him, “Now we can speak easier. Why don’t you tell me about what you’ve just learned?”

The King wanted him to speak? Last time he’d spoken in this room… well, that had been in the middle of something so maybe that’s why it hadn’t been acceptable. Also he hadn’t got the hang of rank specific language, or used the right title back then… Well, maybe now he’d learned how to do it properly, he wouldn’t get scolded?

He showed the King the book.

“I’m reading historical stories M-Master,” he managed, a surge of fear and hatred passing through him as he felt the title leave his lips as if by second nature.

“I see,” said the King, “Can you tell me about the story you’re currently reading?”

Miril stared at him, confused.

“Don’t you already know all the history of this place?” he asked, before realising that he might have been impertinent, “I mean, don’t you know them already, Master?”

The King smiled when he corrected himself. Closer up like this, the King had a very handsome smile. Though what part of him wasn’t handsome, Miril thought.

“I might do,” the King replied, “But I’m more interested in what you think about it. Every person has a different take, a different way of reading what’s in front of them, based on who they are as a person. I’d like to know yours.”

Oh, that kind of made sense. He guessed a non-Feywild native would have a different interpretation of Feywild history than those who had grown up with it. 

“I’m-I’m reading about the Three Sisters and the Prince of Frost,” Miril told him, “I think I’m near the end now because everything is going very badly in an unfixable way.”

He swallowed hard as the King said nothing, letting him continue:

“I-I think it didn’t have to go that badly wrong,” Miril continued, “A lot of the tragedy could have been avoided if they’d just sat and talked about it all like adults, or spoken about it to anyone at all really.”

The King chuckled, leaning on the armrest behind where Miril sat. Once again Miril could feel that incredible warmth coming off him, resisting the urge to lean back against it with all his might.

“Please, tell me what they could have done,” the King replied, amusement evident in his voice. Miril swallowed hard. If he had said something wrong, the King would have already punished him for it. So he guessed he could continue?

“No one in this story ever asks for help,” he stated, “Even when they need it most. They even get sad about the fact that no one is there to help them, but they never even _ask_ for it in the first place. How can they expect anyone to understand that they need assistance, if they never explain that in the first place? It wasn’t as if they didn’t have the opportunity to either! There are lots of times where multiple of these Fey could have asked for help, but they just didn’t, and that’s a bit frustrating really. Especially back here near the beginning when everyone knows…”

Miril wasn’t sure how long he spent tearing apart the life choices of every Archfey in “The Three Sisters and The Prince of Frost”. He ended up flicking back through pages to show the King particularly egregious examples of where the historical figures had never bothered to ask for help. He even backed up his arguments for what they should have done, by quoting their later decisions and pointing out a few things in the story’s illustration.

“So if they had been just a little bit less self-centred and proud, it wouldn’t have gone so badly,” he concluded, “Yes, there would probably have been a war, but the numbers would have been much further in favour of the Sisters, as it would be the allied Fey all against the Prince of Frost. And if the sisters had actually talked to the elven goddess and remembered she even existed, then this would never have been a thing in the first place. People need to think about what they’re doing before they go throwing life changing magic and war declarations around, and in this, they just didn’t.”

The King was grinning in earnest now, as if he’d never heard something quite so delightful. 

“You are so insightful my treasure,” he commented, his tone warm and pleased, “Pride is indeed the greatest vice among the Fey. We are so caught up in our own heads, our own little schemes, that we fail to consider that we are not alone in this wide world.”

As if he couldn’t help himself, the King reached out to pat Miril on the head, gently stroking away the bits of fringe that had fallen in Miril’s face whilst he looked up the pages he wanted to show. Miril flinched at first, but as soon as that warm touch was back, he couldn’t stop himself seeking more. Had he always been so weak to having his hair played with? Or was the King’s touch just addictive somehow? Regardless, as soon as he was done rearranging Miril’s fringe, the King drew his hand back. For a moment, Miril wanted to object to the loss of contact, but he swiftly realised how needy that would look. Because he didn’t need that sensation, he didn’t need the King’s affection, he just...liked how it felt.

A clatter from the door leading to the moss-tunnel alerted Miril that they were no longer alone. A new eladrin, dressed in the attire of the kitchen staff, had appeared with a fresh tray of food. They glanced at Miril up on the armrest before lifting the tray and offering it to him. Miril glanced at the book, then the tray.

“I’ll take that for a moment,” said the King, “You’ll get it back I promise.”

He took the book, gently closing it as Miril accepted the tray of food. Oh, it must be lunchtime already. How long had he been talking? How long had he been reading? How had so many hours just slipped away from him like that? When he was just sitting, alone and scared, every passing minute felt like hours, hours like years. , But now, give him something to do and… Lyesa had been right. He hadn’t felt panicky or terrified all morning, even when conversing with the King, even when telling him about everything he’d read! A bit intimidated perhaps but he’d forgotten about his fright entirely as soon as he had something else to occupy his thoughts with. Had they tricked him? No? This didn’t feel like being tricked. He’d been given a pleasant place to sit, a cup of tea, plenty of snacks and a book. All things considered that sounded like a wonderful morning. Yet was he supposed to be having a wonderful time here? In a place where he was being held against his will? You weren’t supposed to enjoy captivity! You weren’t supposed to enjoy being someone’s pet! But this morning had been… really nice. The King hadn’t been cross once. In fact he’d encouraged Miril to have fun. It had been fun, going through the story, suggesting where things might have gone differently. He enjoyed picking the story apart, especially in front of someone so eager to listen to his every word. Oh this wasn’t making sense! He shouldn’t be having fun! That was absurd!

“Would you like me to tell you a story whilst you eat?” the King offered, setting the book to one side. Miril looked up at him, head full of confusion and mouth full of bread. Perhaps he could get his thoughts in order whilst the King spoke? Perhaps listening to the Archfey share something could help him decide if he was allowed to enjoy this or not? He swallowed heavily, managing a small:

“Yes, Master.”

The King of the Bloom leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the other arm of his throne. Miril could hear his claws tip-tapping against the stonework.

“Once upon a time, many many millennia ago,” began the King, “This Court was but a bud in the vastness of the Feywild. A much smaller, more intimate, settlement where mortals would want for nothing except to please their King and be pleased in return. When the King sang, they would sing, and the King danced, they would dance. Their lives were simple, everyone knew each other by name. To eat, to sleep, to work was a communal affair where all were one and all worked to better the whole. It brought them utmost joy to serve their King and receive such delights in return that would fill their lives with infinite wonder.”

A story about the Court of Blooms! Perhaps he could finally learn more about this place, or at least discover what lay beyond the King’s chambers. Well, that depended if this was the King’s story or the story of his Court. On that note, why was he speaking about himself in the third person?

“Because the story sounds better that way, my treasure,” the King replied to his thoughts with a chuckle. Miril flushed. Once again, he’d forgotten that the King could read his thoughts as easily as he could the tome in front of them. He didn’t seem mad though, merely amused. 

“Despite the need or want for nothing, this little patch of happiness could not last,” the King continued, “As all buds do, the court bloomed. It met other cultures and bloomed wide. A communal palace became a village, a village became a town, swiftly becoming the city that sprawls beyond these walls. And the more they spread across the land, the more divided the mortals became. They developed roles for themselves - careers, councils, guilds, currency… They only let their kind learn a few disciplines each rather than enjoy many pursuits regardless of skill. It no longer purely delighted the mortals to serve their King. No longer could they be satisfied by song, dance and wonders. They sought material gain and titles to fulfill their desire. Worse, singing and dancing, conversing and painting, all the activities that the King once enjoyed freely with his people were now sectioned away behind ‘talent’ and ‘rank’. Mortals would come dance for the King, but not with him. They would sing his praises but never join in his melodies. Those willing to join him in an activity were too focused on impressing rather than the fun of a shared experience.”

The King sighed. It appeared to Miril that the deity was bemoaning his little tribe of followers growing into a civilisation. How old must he be to see his people grow and expand that much? To develop governments and currencies… This place must be ancient, so was their deity.

“As his followers grew more distant, the King grew lonelier,” the Archfey stated, “And at times he raged at what his Court had become. He missed the companionship of his people- occasionally he tried to force them into interacting with him but this only made them fear his wrath and stay away. He could not bring himself to stop or restart the beautiful civilisation he had brought into existence. Yet his loneliness was becoming too much to bear and that often turned itself to anger and harm to those around him.”

Miril heard a dull scrape, like metal on stone, and wondered if that was the King’s claws against his seat.

“Then, one day, his nobles came to him with an idea. They would find a mortal beautiful enough to be in his presence , and that mortal would be trained to satisfy his every need. If the King was gentle and kind to his new companion, then he would have company for every hour of every day. He wouldn’t be alone anymore as there would be someone there for him no matter what. To be there constantly, the mortal would have to give up their freedom in becoming the King’s companion, for to cater to his wants entirely was to forsake all else. They would leave everything behind to be owned henceforth by the King. But in exchange, the King would treat them with honour, generosity and with great kindness - joy for joy as it had always been.”

That...that was what Miril was here for right? He was this mortal. He was the one the noble eladrin had taken to be the King’s new pet. Perhaps he wasn’t very trained but...yes, this was his position the King was talking about.

“From then on,” the King continued, “The King was never lonely. Some companions adapted better than others, but most were able to give the King the friendship and devotion he craved. He finally had someone with whom he could sing, dance, laugh, paint, play… and, in some cases, love.”

A melancholy expression passed momentarily over the King’s face, but he swiftly brightened.

“You see my treasure? I have no intention to torture you, to cause you discomfort or fear. I merely seek a companion to share my time with in joy and wonder. Someone I can treat sweetly and recieve their adoration in return. You will live a life of beautiful luxury if you can entertain this immortal’s whims. Eat with me, talk with me, sleep with me and I will create for you a life of never ending bliss. I will give a thousand tranquil mornings, a million luxurious meals, anything your heart desires if you serve me with faith and obedience in your heart. You may not trust me yet, and that is understandable, but if you do so, it will only serve you well.”

Miril stared at him wide-eyed. So that was what this was all about? A lonely god wanted a constant companion because his people had developed too fast? The eladrin had become too distant and therefore the King of the Bloom needed someone else he could lavish his attention on. That...that honestly didn’t sound like a bad existence if this morning was anything to go by. Yet, there were some gaping holes in this story too, even if it was the truth. Miril opened his mouth, but quickly closed it again when he realised he probably shouldn’t pick apart this particular narrative.

“Go ahead, my treasure,” the King told him, “Ask what you will.”

Miril fiddled with an empty plate as he considered his words carefully. He had one thought above all that tore to pieces all the King’s explanation about wanting a friend, but if he just came out and said it, well, maybe the King would be insulted. He had to try and go about this delicately.

“If you want your new...companion to like you,” he asked, “Then-then why do you kidnap them Master?”

“That is always the first hurdle,” the King admitted with a sigh, “I believe the need to find mortals from other Courts, or from other worlds, was born of the fact that no one in this Court ever wished to volunteer. As you’ve discovered, the fey are proud and the eladrin take after their masters. None of them would give up their places, their careers, their homes, even to satisfy their own deity. However much faith they have, they have always wanted someone else to fulfil this particular role. So, they lay Fey Rings in places only the most daring or desperate mortals may tread, to ensnare the souls of people who are already lonely in their own realms. People who are unlikely to be missed, to spare any further grief. If the mortals caught in their traps are deemed too ugly, or just not up to the nobles’ standards, they are instantly released back into their home realm. But, if they are beautiful enough to meet even the highest of criteria, if they are as utterly gorgeous as yourself for instance , then they get to meet me.”

Why was Miril blushing? That was absurd! 

Besides, he still had questions!

“If...If I’m a companion, not a pet, Master,” he continued, “Why am I wearing a collar?”

“To signify that I have accepted and claimed you,” the King replied, “My Court is a place that reveres beauty. It’s people covet beautiful things, beautiful people...to the point they will steal those things or people from others if they feel they can get away with it. You have a rare and exceptional beauty that any noble, eladrin or Fey, would covet immensely. Therefore I had to create a reminder to them, both physical and magical in one, that you are my companion and not to be touched. The lead is temporary I assure you. I just didn’t want you running off and endangering yourself whilst you were in a flighty spell.”

The collar was for his own safety?

“Does it hurt you at all my treasure? Would you like it altered?”

Miril shook his head. He could barely feel the thing most of the time. Just when he was trying to fight it really. No, there were other things on his mind now.

“How long do people stay your companion for Master?”

“Their entire lives,” the King replied, “I do everything in my considerable ability to keep my companion safe and healthy, but mortals are complicated. Some may be here for centuries, others for weeks. It depends entirely on what they bring with them to my realm, and how my realm treats them.”

That sounded a little ominous, which brought Miril to his next question. Something he’d been kind of wondering since he’d been told he was the King’s ‘new’ pet. Lyesa had made an off hand comment about hoping this one would be better than the last. What was that supposed to mean exactly?

“Master, what happened to your previous companion?”

The King’s expression visibly darkened. The pink of his glowing irises flickered with a red light that reminded Miril of the heart of a fire. The King was still smiling, but the rest of his face had changed so rapidly, it looked more like a grimace now.

“Your predecessor abused his position within my halls, and committed a series of mass-adulteries,” the King stated, his tone was calm, his gaze was burning crimson, “He was never my favourite companion, far colder than any other, and certainly not as fair as yourself, but it appeared he was content to warm the beds of multiple nobles, each unaware of his relations with the others.”

Mass-adulteries? He’d had adulterous affairs with multiple members of the King’s Court? That seemed...how had he ever got away with that?

“Before him, I never felt it necessary to probe my companion’s minds,” the King answered Miril’s shocked thoughts, “I thought I could allow them that little freedom at least. As I said, he wasn’t my favourite, but I felt a bond with him, some affection perhaps. However, when I learned that, after spurring my affections so many times, he had become intimate with six of my aristocracy…”

_Six?_ ! The last companion had affairs with _six_ other people? Why hadn’t he felt bad after the first one? How had he managed six? Lying to six people, and the King of the Bloom? It would be impressive if it wasn’t so despicable, remarkable if it wasn’t so disgusting! You didn’t do that to people’s hearts! Anyone’s hearts! Didn’t the last guy understand his role? That he was supposed to stop the King being lonely? How was he supposed to do that when he was sleeping around so much. And how could he do this to him, Miril? Because of his betrayal, the King was now in his head too! Maybe that was why the King was keeping him so close - either at his feet or under the watchful eye of Lyesa. Was he worried about another companion betraying him? Look at what that last guy had done for all companions going forth!

“I am sorry that you too must bear the weight of his betrayal,” the King said, “This has become as much a matter for trust for me as it has for you. I’m sure you will never consider such a misdeed, my treasure, but it turns out even a mortal can shake the resolve of an Archfey. Over time I am sure I will accept that you will not be like him, and give you back the privacy of your own mind.”

“I wouldn’t ever do that Master,” Miril told him, knowing the King could feel the earnest nature of his words through his thoughts, “I’m not the sort of person to break promises or-or lie to people. I couldn’t imagine doing such a… such a horrible thing!”

“I can sense that from you, my treasure,” the King stated, his gaze fading back to pink, his smile becoming more genuine, “And I hope that in time you will learn to trust me, as I will, to trust you.”

Still angry at the audacity of his predecessor, Miril barely noticed the palace staff were back, bringing out long benches and placing them length-ways through the audience chamber. It finally dawned on him that something was happening when a pair of eladrin with a huge wooden seat - big enough for two people or one very large person, huffed and puffed their way into the hall to place the chair down. 

“Ah, this is for the next visitor,” the King sighed, “Trivial, the lot of them. It appears we must cut this conversation short, my treasure, but I will answer any more questions you may have when we are next alone. Please, sit, read, enjoy your meal. I will not have this take long.”

Miril merely nodded as he took his position back on the grassy mound with his book and his food. He opened the tome at the page he’d read last, but he found himself unable to keep reading. His head was packed with all he’d just learned - lonely gods and adulterers, cities blooming and beautiful people being taken from other worlds. Now he’d received an explanation from the King himself, his new situation had become decidedly less frightening, Lyesa was always going on about being good, obeying and doing whatever he was told with no choice in the matter. The King though… Lyesa called him a pet whilst the Archfey had called him a companion. Lyesa taught him to wordlessly obey whilst the King listened to him speak at great length. Had Lyesa been needlessly scaring him? Could he really live a long life of luxury, if he became the constant companion to a lonely and incredibly handsome god? That hardly sounded real! Surely that wasn’t true. But could it be? 

Oh so much to think about! So many questions to ask! So much to learn about, to read, to understand!

Well, whatever did lay ahead for Miril, there was one thing he could be sure of. In this strange world, with this strange King, at least it would never be dull.


End file.
